


September 2nd

by ChokingOnYourAlibi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Okay Overtones, Sexual Undertones, legal alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 18:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10859766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokingOnYourAlibi/pseuds/ChokingOnYourAlibi
Summary: She left me weak at the knees and I felt the unshakeable need to play into her hand.





	September 2nd

She was a succubus, luring me in with sweet talk and suggestive overtones. I didn't know how things would play out at that point, but how could I? She acted kind and caring; at some points she could have even been considered docile.  
     Still now I can recall the night on which we met. We hovered by the bar and I found myself plagued by the urge to make conversation with her.  
     "I'll take a whiskey, neat." I told the bartender.  
 "And for you?" He prompted, nodding towards her. She grinned; she was all teeth, lips, and luscious curves and as much was obvious to everyone around her that night. To this day, I can't say distinctly what drink she ordered- that is assuming she ordered a drink at all. I'd say that it was likely, but my mind stressed over other things.  
     These things included: the way her dress clung to her chest and ass, the way she bit her lip as her eyes scanned me hungrily, and the way the whiskey burned in the back of my throat. In precisely that order.  
     My right thumb rubbed small circles on her waist as I scanned the room. A young man was on the stage, strumming his guitar as he sang of lost love and an empty bed. I can recall voicing my opinions on the song to her, commenting on how naive I thought him to be. She simply nodded and smiled, her ruby red lips capturing my attention for what felt like the thousandth time that night.  
    "He can't be more than twenty," I said, "he knows nothing of the world."  
     "He knows nothing of wonders and horrors." She added, her fingers drumming forcefully against the bar's edge. My eyes followed her hand as she twirled a lock of her perfectly made up hair. She looked too mesmerizing to be real in that moment. The dim lighting emphasized the shadows of her face as we made eye contact. I took the last remaining sip of my drink in an effort to combat the nearly overwhelming lust that filled my being.  
 We carried on like that as the night wore on. I found that, between the lulls that were caused by sexual tension and aided by alcohol, she and I could speak of almost anything. It was as if running out of things to say was nearly impossible. A feat, considering my usual aversion to such matters.  
Her vocabulary was as expansive as my own and her knowledge of the world and its problems rivaled that of my self-proclaimed "history buff" friends. She spoke eloquently; I remember being taken aback by how intelligent she was. Finding one as well-versed in nearly every topic of conversation as she was a rare occurrence.  
     It must have been nearly one in the morning when I left, a napkin with her number scrawled on it tucked inside my pocket. She had insinuated that we could partake in other activities when I gathered my coat, but I declined; I had stayed out for far too long already and had plans to stop by my place of work when it opened the next morning.  
    "I apologize, but perhaps we could meet another day. I'd like to take you on a proper date. It's not every day that you meet one as intriguing as you. Surely I could take you up on your offer when that time comes around." I suggested, attempting to maintain a cool exterior. Her lips curled into a wicked smirk and she gave a nod of affirmation. I watched with delighted eyes as she asked the bartender for a pen and slid my napkin close enough to pen her number on it.  
    We bid each other goodnight merely five minutes later, her eyes following me as I shrugged on my coat.  
    "I ask that you not forget about me." She joked with a slight smile.  
    "I doubt that I could, Angelica." I responded, smirking.  
     The cold air was biting as I exited, prodding me to pull my coat tighter around myself. It seemed that the world was in stark contrast with the atmosphere of the bar. I hailed a cab and slipped inside quickly, anxious to block out the freezing winter. The driver was a stoic, hulking man who made no move to initiate conversation between us.  
     I silently thanked the sky above for this occurrence; I had never been fond of small talk. "Lovely weather we're having" and "how do you do" were phrases and questions that I had come to despise. When one asks how another is doing, I've found that they rarely care to hear the answer and simply ask out of social obligation.  
    I have long since reached the conclusion that I do not have time for such illusions of intimacy and interest in the well being of myself and others. I recall being pleased to note that the driver appeared to share my opinion. The man drove in silence; he only spoke to ask of the whereabouts of my destination.  
     The well-rehearsed address of my lodgings fell from my lips with ease and my gaze fell on buildings outside. Thoughts of the night, my luck, and a woman named Angelica flew through my mind faster than I could cling to or comprehend them.


End file.
